


Smell

by nbj



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, COVID-19, Corona - Freeform, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Iroh (Avatar) is a Good Uncle, Isolation, Panic, Past Suicidal Thoughts, Quarantine, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:08:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28552875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nbj/pseuds/nbj
Summary: The guacamole had been freshly made. Zuko had even tossed in some of his favourite Japanese spices, no matter how much his uncle would have scolded him for destroying the taste of such a wonderful Mexican dish.A hoarse laugh escaped his raw throat. Whattaste?No, this was not possible. They had beenso careful!OrWhen Zuko comes down with CoviD-19, he should be prepared. His uncle is already sick, he is the one who needs care. So why does Zuko suddenly find himself unable to cope?
Relationships: Iroh & Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	Smell

**Author's Note:**

> I’m always open and grateful for constructive criticism and potential corrections.  
> Have fun!

Later, Zuko couldn’t have said how long he sat at the table and simply stared at the piece of toast in his hand.

The guacamole on the crumbly bread had been freshly made. He had even tossed in some of his favourite Japanese spices, no matter how much his uncle would have scolded him for destroying the taste of such a wonderful Mexican dish.

A hoarse laugh escaped his raw throat. What _taste_?

Tentatively, Zuko brought the piece of toast to his nose to take a deep sniff. Nothing. He bowed forward even more just to end up with a splash of smashed avocado on the tip of his nose and still no smell.

Placing the toast down, Zuko took a deep deliberate breath through his mouth. His ribcage felt oddly tight, almost restricting. _Fuck_. That couldn’t be happening. Surely it was just the fact that the avocado had been over-ripe, right? It must have been bad already and now Zuko felt sick because he had eaten bad fruit. Maybe bad fruit lost its smell?

But, hadn’t he been out of breath just that morning, when he had run upstairs from his room to uncle’s apartment and brought him a plate of noodles - hands freshly disinfected, of course.

No, this was not possible. They had been _so careful!_

Determined, Zuko went over to the stove where the left-over marinated chicken from dinner was still sitting in a pan. Zuko could feel his heartbeat in his throat as he leant forward to take a deep sniff over the pan. Immediately, he gagged, jumping back from the stove and sucked in fresh clean, air without the horrible, horrible stench of burned flesh in his nose.

Alright, that was just his luck. Of course, the very smell he tried to avoid like crazy since he had to smell his own face burning away, his nose was still able to detect.

He dragged a hand through his hair, his breath shaky. Was he really about to cry now? He was twenty-six, for crying out loud. He was not supposed to be worried or scared for himself while his old uncle was sitting upstairs, isolated, with a positive corona test on his desk.

Azula had been right. Under all the loving and friendship-searching façade, he was a shitty and egoistic person. He hadn’t reacted with such fear when his uncle had gotten the letter from the authorities a few days earlier.

He threw out the half-eaten toast and placed the platter in the sink. It almost slipped from his fingers. Only now did he notice that the moisture on his palms hadn’t evaporated like it usually would after a few minutes after using the disinfection.

Instead, his hands felt cold, clammy, and sweaty.

Zuko almost tripped over his own feet as he stormed back to his room, locking the door behind him and crawled under the blankets on his bed. From somewhere around his feet, a low meow indicated that he’d just woken Druk from his afternoon-nap. Sure enough, moments later the red cat crawled up at his side and flopped down beside Zuko’s head. With another meow, Druk started to lick over Zuko’s face, scraping his rough tongue over his cheek, again and again, cleaning it from tears.

Agni, when had he started crying?

Zuko didn’t want to think, he didn’t want to feel, and he didn’t want to think about what made him feel in the first place. He drew the comforter up to his chin, covering Druk’s hind-legs in the process, and snuggled his head further into the soft fur at the cat’s side, letting it soak up his tears.

He felt oddly cold and distant like he hadn’t slept several nights and was dealing with the aftermath of sleeplessness - but Zuko knew better. His mind seemed fuzzy and his feet had become numb - instead of concentrating on the oncoming panic, Zuko let the slow up and down of his cat’s belly and the rhythmical licking, that had by now been redirected to his ear, ground him.

He was scared, yes. But there wasn’t really anything he could do now. Everything they’d been told to do, he had done. Now that he had gotten sick anyway, this was where the guidelines ended. Even if Zuko would be naïve enough to believe those people who said the virus was just like the flu, he hadn’t even had the flu, ever. He so rarely got sick that he couldn’t even draw any comfort from comparing the currently rampaging illness to another.

Somehow, the awareness of his incapacity to _do_ anything about his situation took the overwhelming fear and settled down into his stomach with it where it became a slightly sickening weight, instead of remaining suffocating claws at his throat.

Suddenly, his phone rang and Druk jumped at his side, as startled as he was. _Four seasons, four loves_ blared through his room from where his phone was lying on his desk and it almost got to the first refrain before Zuko could pick up, his uncle’s profile picture grinning up at him.

“Nephew, could you please pick up the jar standing at the front door? My neighbour brought over a new cake-recipe and even gave us some dough to spare me the work. Isn’t she considerate? Don’t worry, I am in perfect shape and could easily cook up a feast if I needed to now, but she did so with good intention.”

Zuko only picked out the most important things from his uncle’s rambling. He should pick up…something. And his uncle said he was fine when his voice sounded so much more tired than usual. Zuko hated hearing his uncle like this.

Ever since he’d taken him in after the burn - and took him back with open arms after he’d gone back to his abusive father, ruining his uncle’s tea shop and reputation in the process - Zuko cherished his uncle like nobody else in the world. The old man meant the world to him and Zuko would be eternally grateful for what he’d done for him. Oh god, he hadn’t even told his uncle. Would he be disappointed that he hadn’t told him such gravy news immediately?

His side hurt, and, once more, Zuko couldn’t tell whether it was fear or the sickness stabbing at his lungs. Was he being overdramatic again? He sure had had some overly dramatic tendencies during his teenage years.

He could always text Katara. After all, she had been working at the front, so to say, when still being at the Central Hospital. She’d seen (and helped) many people before catching the virus herself.

The first time, she had said that it had only been a matter of time, that it wouldn’t be too bad. And, true to her words, she had pulled through it within two weeks and had been back at the intensive care unit as a doctor withing three. When she had come down with CoviD-19 again only two months later, she had joked that only who’d had it twice in this cursed year could really call themselves a professional.

Of course, under all the jokes and light-hearted banter between his friends, all of them had shared the same thoughts: _Hadn’t the government said you’d have antibodies for at least three months? Weren’t those who have had the virus in the previous three months sent back to work no matter how exposed they had been again?_

Zuko exhaled forcefully, earning him a paw on his ear. He dislodged Druk from his grip on his head and took another, deeper, breath.

Everything would be alright. Right now, he had to tell his uncle. It was the right and most urgent thing to do.

As Zuko climbed the two flairs of stairs that lay between his rooms underneath and his uncle’s apartment above the Jasmine Dragon, he noticed that breathing was far easier already than it had been minutes before.

Taking a disinfection tissue to grab the doorknob, he let himself into the apartment. All the doors that led from the small hallway were shut, but Zuko had no trouble figuring out behind which his uncle was.

The distinct in-game music of the Pai Sho online game Zuko had installed for his uncle droned from within his study. His uncle and his friends had been forced to cancel their weekly Pai Sho nights to keep their social distance. It hadn’t been long before Piandao had come up with the idea of playing online. Zuko was still impressed by how fast his uncle had taken to operating the computer.

His first knock barely carried to the other side of the door, and Zuko could still feel some lingering panic clawing at his lungs. Or, was it even the panic anymore? Could he already feel symptoms in his breathing? The though squeezed another breathless gasp from him. Another knock, and another, but the happy jingle of _PaiShOnline_ swallowed them before they could reach Iroh.

“Uncle?!” Zuko took a deep breath to quell the tears that had gathered in his eyes again.

But his uncle still must have heard some distress in Zuko’s voice, because the music immediately muted and was replaced by uncle’s booming voice.

“Zuko? What’s the matter? Did something happen? I thought we agreed on staying in our separate spaces?”

They had, hadn’t they? And Zuko had disobeyed and broken their mutual promise. A short cough interrupted his spiralling thoughts and Zuko was painfully reminded of the reason for his actions when the back of his throat suddenly felt like sandpaper. Shit, why did he feel so much worse that fast? Was that normal? Did it mean he would have more severe symptoms?

“I’m sorry, uncle. I’m-“ Zuko sucked in a breath to keep the tears at bay but Iroh must have heard his distress anyway as the door swung open, revealing his uncle clad in comfortable morning robes and his face covered by a mask and a scarf.

“Zuko, what’s wrong?” The concern in his uncle’s voice and face ripped the last strands of control from Zuko’s shaking fingers.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m so sorry, uncle. I’m scared.” By now, the tears were flowing freely but Zuko couldn’t find it in him to care anymore.

“I’m scared and I know I shouldn’t be, uncle. I _know_. But I made guacamole with extra fire-vinegar and curry and I- I couldn’t taste _anything_! And I didn’t smell it either. And I’m scared. And I shouldn’t be because if anybody is at risk here, it’s you. I have no _right_ to be scared. But, but ever since I started to really _want_ to live, I am so, so scared of dying, uncle!”

 _Agni_ , where had that confession come from? He had not meant to say that. Shit. What was uncle going to think now? He sounded extremely ungrateful.

Uncle’s eyes had gone incredibly soft.

“Oh, Zuko. Nephew, please don’t apologize for any of this. I love you very much and what you just said is just wonderful to hear. Please believe me, I am not mad nor disappointed.”

Starting to feel overdramatic, Zuko futilely tried to rub the tears from his face with the sleeve of his sweater.

“I am very glad you told me, Zuko. At least, now we can do this again,” suddenly, and with incredible speed, Zuko was pulled forward and into a crushing hug. The feeling of finally being near another person again was overwhelming and soothing all the same.

Distantly, Zuko thought that he should protest the hug, should keep his distance and stay away from his uncle and from the comfort he was given, but the warm clothing his face was hidden in soon wrapped up all those evil thoughts.

For a minute, he just let himself be held as if he was sixteen again.

As if he had read his mind, Iroh’s whispered at his side: “We will get through this, too, Zuko.”

Zuko sucked in a shallow breath.

He smelled love.

**Author's Note:**

> I am aware that this might be offending to some people - please keep in mind that this is solely my experience and my opinion, put on Zuko’s shoulders. I hope you enjoyed this little story.


End file.
